Feathers and Fur: Hell's Dirtiest Cat
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: Husk is a really dirty boy. ("Not like that, pervert!") The rest of the hotel has to contend with that.
1. Sudden Realization

It was a damn crying shame that Husk became some weird cat demon hybrid once he landed in Hell. He had been expecting fire and torture—maybe a possible meeting with the King of Hell himself. Instead, all he got was a dark, gritty mockery of what Earth was like along with an unfortunate change in appearance. Sure, there were perks that he happened to enjoy. Like the fact that no one batted an eye if you were to visit the bar or the casino at all hours. Or that no one really cared if you happened to get drunk and start brawling wherever you pleased. Once you crawled out of whatever hole you'd been dropped in, you were free to do whatever you pleased.

Provided that you didn't step on the wrong demon's foot or die.

But really, when you had all the time in the world to do things in life that you have always been doing—the things that landed you in Hell—you realize something really important.

Hell, ultimately, was boring.

For a time, Husk scrounged around from bar to bar, casino to casino chasing whatever high he could attain. He was no hardcore druggie, but he was no stranger to whatever pleasure that drugs and chemicals could offer him. Along the way, he had managed to find himself in cahoots with one of Hell's most ambitious overlords, a feat if there ever was one.

To this day, he isn't sure if meeting Alastor was a blessing or a curse.

Alastor was a riot, but without the good feelings that came with it. He was arrogant, touchy, and completely insane at times. However, Husk's boss was fair in his own way—a gigantic upgrade from his part time job as a magician or gambler/drunkard—because he absolutely didn't mind it when Husk mouthed off at him. It was nice; Husk was able to release all of his frustrations on the Radio Demon at his own leisure and Alastor got his work done like any hard working demon like him would do.

Which, is to say, absolutely nothing.

All in all, Husk led a selectively comfy life. It may have been fraught with genocide, backstabbing demons, and whatever else Hell had to offer, but it was still relaxing and boring in a way. In the case of working his furry ass off at the stupid hotel, it was the other things that Hell had to offer. It may not have been the cushy job that he could tolerate or a series of wins at a casino, but Husk was content. At least he had booze and a roof over his head.

In fact, one could even compare his job to something that was almost heavenly.

Ha! What a riot and a stinking job to boot!

For a moment, Husk allowed himself a small chuckle to reverberate through his throat. It was a mellow sort of sound, something deep and gravelly, but still pleasant to listen to. Almost as if his voice was like an old, scratchy blanket that still provided warmth no matter how worn and crotchety it got.

"Whatcha laughin' at, babe?"

With an abrupt stop, Husk looked away from the shelves of liquor to glance at the bar's counter. He quietly entertained the thought that he was just hearing things, but lo and behold, there was Angel Dust in all of his pink attired glory. Complete with that sultry smile on his face along with the batting of eyelids, the acclaimed porn star looked the very picture of seduction. Even though Husk had been working at the hotel for quite some time, he still wasn't sure if Angel was too flirty or too stupid to stop acting like… that.

"If you want a drink, then ya gotta ask for it instead of just sitting there." Husk crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked at Angel straight in the eyes before grumbling softly to himself. The prostitute was still eyeing him like he was interested. Actually, Angel probably was interested, it's just that Husk didn't know how to process that information without wanting to drown himself in several bottles of cheap booze.

"Why ask for liquor when there's a tall glass of water in front of me?" Angel leaned an elbow on top of the countertop and placed his chin on top of the palm of his hand. A coy flutter of the lashes and a strategic fluffing of his chest fluff had Husk honestly wishing that he wasn't summoned by Alastor. (Not that he wasn't already wishing that he wasn't summoned, but he was adamant with his feelings this time).

Husk, like he would with people who thought that flirting with him was a good idea, simply scoffed and glared at the spider demon. A claw, sharp and bright white against the dim fluorescence pointed at the direction opposite his bar.

"Again, if you don't want anything, please leave." A grumpy sigh. "Please."

The ever present smirk on Angels' features seemed to dim a little at his brusque dismissal, but brightened when an idea seemed to blossom in his mind. At that look, the feline's fur suddenly stood on end and his ears began to flatten themselves against the sides of his head.

Angel… Angel really had to stop with whatever he was doing.

Right.

Now.

Husk huffed. "Don't look at me like that, that was a bad pick up line and you know it."

Angel simpered just a little, but backed off. Was this it? Was he finally going to have some peace and quiet? Cautious, Husk waited for a couple more seconds before continuing with his previous activity—that is, contemplating his lifestyle and nursing some cheap alcohol. Yet, as most things in Hell are wont to do, things went out of their way to annoy him to no end.

Husk found himself heavily disappointed, but not surprised.

Instead of hopping off his chosen barstool, Angel opted to—

"Get your ass off my counter before I skin you alive!" The cat demon hybrid's face colored when he saw that the stupid spider demon clamber atop his bar with four of his arms. "The hell you think you're doing?" His wings bristled up in what he thought was a threatening manner, but only served to egg Angel further.

Now, because he was quite the loner when he wasn't working under some shitty boss of an overlord, not many people knew personal things about him. Not many people knew that he had spoken a few languages during his time as a human—a trait that carried over into his life as a demon. He also had an affinity for card tricks that he developed from his time entertaining friends and making some extra cash on the side as some sort of magician. But really, those were some trivial things about him that anyone could have guessed if you had simply observed him.

When he was drunk.

And in a great mood.

No, what Husk took special care into hiding from most people was that he was both cat and bird demon. His furry animal side wasn't just for show: he literally had the animal nature of both. If under threat, his fur would stand on end and his tail would swing back and forth with agitation. Whenever Alastor or Niffty got too close or annoyed him in general, he would hiss and snarl. Furthermore, his wings would flutter and curl closer to his body if he felt particularly cornered. They were cumbersome things that allowed him the power of flight… but also had the power to make him feel clumsy and disoriented, especially when drunk. Even though it had been decades since he had died, he still felt like he didn't know how to control his additional appendages at times.

God, he was such an animal.

But one of the first things that he hated about being a demon in Hell was that he had to maintain his hygiene. Fur was somewhat manageable, but the wings. Dear God above, those things were the worst part. If he wanted to, he could ignore his feathers for quite some time. Weeks could pass before he would deign to clean them or maintain their appearance.

The things about birds and preening (not that he would ever call that activity that) was that birds preened themselves multiple times a day for optimal cleanliness and flight. That meant that Husk's wings were usually in disarray, dirty, and filled with all manner of debris that happened to get stuffed into the feathers. He hated to admit it at times, but he was an unpleasant slob with a penchant for gambling and card tricks.

Cleanliness aside, Husk had unwittingly brought attention to his wings to one porn star: Angel Dust.

And no, that was not a good thing.

A dark pink gloved hand reached out much too quickly for Husk to comprehend at first, but he immediately felt it when a feather drifted off the ground. That was not supposed to happen.

At all.

"Cut that shit out!" A quick swipe of his paws had Angel scuttling back to the counter, but it wasn't hard or threatening enough to discourage Angel from leaving. "No touching without consent, you ass!"

It was bad enough that Alastor got his rocks off by hugging and toying with him every which way to his heart's content. If Angel was given the slightest hint that this sort of touch was in some way okay… that would be a nightmare worse than Hell.

At Husk's words, Angel immediately placed both of his arms up in a placating manner. Angel liked to play around with anybody, but he still had a set of morals—even if the morals he had did little to change his status in Hell. With one sleazy smile, Angel once again sat on the counter.

"Got it, babe! Geeze, don't get your feathers in a twist!" Right when he said that, Angel twirled a bright red feather in his gloved fingers like one would with a baton. "You always shed when you get angry?"

Husk quickly grabbed the feather and immediately stuffed it into the trash can that lay in front of his feet. Husk was not a man who was easily embarrassed, but he definitely did not want to showcase the fact that he was practically shedding feathers that he should have gotten rid of if he actually preened.

Ugh.

"I am _not_ shedding!"

Perhaps he sounded too forceful or agitated because Angel's face seemed to grow into an even brighter smile.

"You know—" Angel squinted at the blood red coloring of Husk's plumage. There seemed to be a knowing glint reflected in his eyes. Husk didn't like that look at all. "—I don't think you've been taking care of yourself. Look at all that dust and dirt on your wings!"

The bartending demon growled before crossing his arms in front of Angel.

"If you're planning on insulting me for having a few feathers loose, I'll—"

"Turn me into mincemeat? Chop me into liver?" At such a question, Angel inched closer to the sulking Husk before landing back on his feet. "Feed me to the fishes? Threatening me won't work: being part of the mob just takes the fun out of that."

"Fine," Husk conceded. "Just leave me the hell alone."

"And leave without learning about my proposition?" The spider demon placed a gloved hand above his breast to look like an affected damsel in distress. If Angel was expecting a positive reaction, he was sorely disappointed. Husk was only locking eyes with him, his gaze straying no lower than the spider demon's chin. "How cruel of you! I promise that it'll be worth your while."

For an extra measure, Angel batted his eyes in what he hoped looked innocent and sweet as opposed to lustful and hungry.

Still, Husk refused to add to Angels' fantasies.

"I am not up for a fuck. Scram."

"Ooh! But I promise you that I'm not going to do anything. Well… anything sexual, promise." The look that was on Angel's face was one of complete honesty; it was beseeching. His was an expression that Husk didn't know that Angel could make. "At the very least, let me explain. Hear me out." A pause. "Please."

Husk may not have been the most polite person, but he had his limits. Something about this situation felt so surreal. He had never allowed Angel to get so close to him before, let alone let him cross the counter and into the bar itself. Then again, out of the blue, Angel looked like… well he hadn't been acting as pushy nowadays…

Maybe he should listen to him.

No harm in it, right?

Husk lazily waved a paw into the air, an obvious signal for the spider demon to continue his proposal. For a moment, as Husk waited for the porn star to speak, he busied himself with ripping open a bottle of one of his many liquors.

"If you want, I can help you pick your feathers."

Husk swallowed too much of alcohol, some of the liquid getting caught in his lungs, which prompted an impromptu coughing fit.

Geeze, that really burned!

"That's what you're doing, right? Preening?" Angel continued.

"I am not a bird." Husk spat emphatically. "I do not preen. Thanks for the offer, but I have to decline."

Most people would have left after that curt response, but Angel was stubborn when he really wanted to. With a devilish smirk, Angel hopped back onto the counter.

"Think of it as a way that'll help us get to… know each other better."

"Stop. Flirting. With. Me."

Angel shrugged and finally—_finally!_—leaped off the counter and into the hotel lobby. Who was Husk to thank? God? Lucifer? Husk didn't care, he was just thankful that Angel was going to leave—

"Just you wait, you're going to start itching like crazy and you'll need my help!" That last part was sang aloud as that stupid prostitute skipped out hotel's front door. "When that time comes, you can call on me!"

Husk huffed. "Fat chance of that ever happening."

At that moment, Husk found himself scratching idly at a few patches in his wings.

A few feathers fell onto the ground and Husk felt his jaw tighten in annoyance.

God, he hated his wings.


	2. Sudden Intervention

The thing about Husk was that he liked putting things on the back burner. If something didn't need attention right away, then what was the use in addressing it? Maybe the problem would go away. Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it would rear its ugly head in the shape of a monstrous, eldritch abomination that would cause so much stress and anxiety that Husk would have no choice but to resort to drinking his problems away.

Come to think of it, that was probably the reason why he had a drinking problem in the first place.

Also, that monstrous, eldritch abomination? To be honest, that was more than likely Alastor. However, after knowing the Radio Demon for an indeterminable amount of time, Husk was kinda, sorta used to that. (Not really, but as long as Husk knew that and Alastor didn't, then that was fine).

Whatever the case, Husk found that his wings were looking worse for wear. Most of his feathers were matted down and had lost its glossy, downy sheen. Dirt and grime would cascade onto the floor if Husk moved too fast. Often, that would result in a number of feathers being shed as well. And that wasn't even including the state that his fur was in!

Given that Husk sought help from no one and was decidedly a chronic procrastinator, it was only logical that there be one reasonable outcome.

Two, really.

One, Husk would get his act together and actually start preening his wings and cleaning his fur.

Or two, he would drink his problems away until someone had the gall to intervene.

If one were to ask Husk, he would have said that the first option was preferable. The first option would have been more likely if he had been on his own. Hey, he had been living in Hell for like four or so decades, he had to clean his wings a couple of times over the years. If he could stomach letting his wings fester in its own filth for a few more weeks or so, then he was golden. Heck, he would have cleaned his wings earlier, but now that he was in the employ of the esteemed hotel for sinners…

Not that anyone would know, but Husk would rather clean himself in the comfort of his own home instead of at the hotel.

Call it a territorial thing, but Husk didn't feel safe in a new environment. Give him a couple of months, maybe then… Oh, wait. That would mean he would have to ride out the discomfort of filthy wings for that amount of time or he would have to find some way to get out of the hotel without anybody finding out.

As Husk hunched over the counter of his beloved bar, his ears pricked forward. He was picking up a pair of footsteps coming from the front entrance of the lobby. After having spent the majority of his time at the hotel, he had gotten used to hearing the different types of sounds that people would make wherever they were walking, how they were walking, and if they planned on making a pit stop at his bar. It was a neat little trick that most animal demons could do, but at that moment, Husk wished that he didn't recognize those particular sets of footsteps.

Because.

Those two pairs of footsteps belonged to no other than the Princess of Hell and her cohort, Vaggie…(?)

Whatever the moth demon's name was, Husk was sure that those two were up to no good when they both made a beeline towards him. Now, it was expected that the Princess of Hell would approach him, after all, she was technically one of his employers. Plus, she was that typical boss who wanted to make sure that her underlings were doing swell in the grand scheme of things. As for the other one...

"Oh, Husk!"

The demon hybrid slapped the heel of his hand against the side of his face. Just hearing the glittery sunshine and rainbow vomit from her voice was already doing wonders for him. And by wonders, he meant that he was already getting irritated. Usually, whenever Charlie wanted to check in, she would ask a few questions and be on her merry way. Either that, or she would just send for Alastor.

Now.

Now, Charlie planted her butt firmly onto the barstool in front of the bar.

When the demon hybrid offered no word of greeting, the blond heiress felt her bright smile from before slightly fade before returning full force.

"We—" She gestured at herself and her lady friend. "—are here to stage an intervention."

The demon in question pulled his bottle of liquor away from his lips with an audible plop. His eyes had narrowed at the mentioned suggestion of intervention; he had a feeling that he knew what they were talking about. After a while of berating him about his drinking habit, it appeared that he was going to have his physical appearance attacked.

Gee, he had to wonder who he had to thank for that.

That was sarcasm. He definitely knew that it was that pink spider demon who like him a bit too much.

"Oh, really?" He propped his feet on top of the counter, mindful that he didn't lean too far backward. "Last time I checked, you didn't have too much of a stage presence."

While Charlie laughed a little too hard at his wordplay (something that he both appreciated and cringed at), Vaggie merely eyed him like he was nothing more than the dirt at the heel of her shoe. Joke's on her, though. They were both in Hell—no amount of posturing could get themselves elevated to a higher status when they were both terrible mortal souls.

Charlie caught his attention again by waving her spindly arms in front of his face.

"It has come to our attention that your physical appearance need some… sprucing up!" The Princess of Hell, looking a little too uncomfortable with the situation, rocked back and forth on her feet, before peering at him hopefully. Why didn't she just say that he looked like he had crawled out of the shitter? Would have been much easier instead of needlessly posturing with fake politeness or whatever. Then again, it must have been her princessly sensibilities or some crap like that. Whatever he thought, Vaggie immediately (somehow) knew.

"You look like you're purposely trying to scare away all our future patrons!" Her one visible eye twitched in agitation as she started to loom over the demon hybrid. Did her bow start morphing into horns? Cool trick. "Can't you at least try to act the part of a responsible concierge?"

"Who the hell let's a barman man the concierge?" Husk downed another swig of his alcohol before letting out a small burp. "Oh yeah, it's you guys and your low standards."

"Now let's not—" Charlie began, but Vaggie immediately reared up in retaliation.

"We're doing our best, you—"

As Vaggie continued her tirade, Husk tuned her out. As long as they weren't physically threatening him, then he was all good.

To be honest, Husk could give a shit of what the Princess of Hell and her lackey thought of him. If they were that desperate to get him to take care of himself, then they would have to try harder than to preach to him. They should do practical things that would appeal to him and his sense of morality. Like bribing him. With money. Or more booze.

Unfortunately, Husk was not rewarded with either of those things or material incentives.

Like most of those unimaginative demons out there, they started threatening him.

"If you don't get your feathered ass to—"

Charlie hurriedly intervened before Vaggie threatened to leap into the area behind the counter. Although the princess looked a little frazzled by how well the conversation was going, Husk noted that she calmly placed a hand on her dear partner's shoulder before casting a frown at him. If her frown was meant to have an effect, Husk was almost sorry to say that he had not the slightest hint of guilt in his body.

They would have to try harder than emotional manipulation to get what they want.

"Husk, I'm speaking to you as a friend."

Husk felt one of his eyes twitch at that. This was Hell, she was the Princess of Hell, and he was nothing more than a lackey for one of the Overlords. They were nowhere near the vicinity of friends. Fuck this polite bullshit and propriety, Husk felt that he was being bribed with cheap words and innnocence, both of which were things far worse than death in his opinion.

"I'm your employee, not your friend."

"O-oh…" Charlie looked to him with sad doe-eyed innocence and damn it, if he was back on earth and cursed with the burden of morality, he would have felt something. Thank Lucifer or whatever was in charge of his meaningless existence that he didn't have a heart anymore.

"Look," she continued, her voice soft and encouraging, "I know that the hotel isn't what you had in mind to spend your time, but you're here now and well…" She twiddled her thumbs. "Well, everyone here has to abide by the rules and frankly, you're kind of violating one of them."

She was silent for a moment and for a second, Husk was alarmed that she expected him to say anything in reply. What were they called again? Rhetorical questions? Yeah, he didn't do those unless he was the one asking them.

"Husk, the employees of the hotel are tasked with the reputation, upkeep, and maintenance of it. In order to uphold the reputation of everyone—and I do mean everyone!—we all have to be presentable. It's…" She seemed to wrack her head for a moment before turning to him. "It's for the good of the hotel! Don't you want us to succeed?"

Husk eyed the neck of his bottle of liquor. It was one of his many escape tactics when it came to socializing with people who were far too good for their own good. He gets to pretend that he's listening when he's merely estimating how much liquor was left and his companion could easily pretend that he's feeling guilty for not living up to their expectation. Hallelujah, he's not cursing her outright and thus, he's not being callous or cussing her out without abandon.

He stealthily sneaked a peek at Charlie, not too surprised that she was looking at him with softened eyes and slumped shoulders. Geeze, if he didn't know any better, he would have thought that she was an award winning actress. Who could look so desperate and sorry for him? Certainly not the majority of residents in Hell.

Husk faced the bottle of liquor again, his resolve hardening even in the face of princessly tears.

The truth was, Husk didn't really care outside of his own little world. He had been unceremoniously dumped into his little cesspool of redemption and by the powers below, he was not going to bow down to some prissy little royal. Honestly, there was nothing he had against her, he was just a bit preoccupied with the truth. There was no way anyone was going to get redeemed. No amount of reputation or self-repentance was going to do anything to change that.

Once you were in Hell, there was no way out.

Not even death could save you.

So why should Husk make an effort?

"Look!" Charlie excitedly pointed at the small pile of feathers that had drifted to the floor in the midst of his thoughtless ruffling. At a closer glance, Husk recognized that the feathers were old and matted with dirt and dust. Hmm… He shrugged his broad shoulders before gazing idly at the blonde.

Could have been worse.

"Eh, I had worse."

"Worse? It could get worse than this?" Vaggie pulled out her snow white hair, a spectacle that did nothing to impress the demon hybrid. The demoness turned to Charlie with a disgruntled look on her face. "Look, why do we even bother? If we can't get this behavior under control—"

"Quit talking about me like I'm just a stray!"

"—the problem is going to get worse and where will we be?" She threw her hands in the air and made as if to summon her spear. At the motion, Husk's ears lay flat against his head, but he had nothing to fear. Even with her demonic heritage, Charlie wouldn't allow a brawl to break out if she could help it. "The hotel will do down as a laughingstock because we basically made him our mascot!"

"Hmm… you raise some good points!" Charlie clapped her hands before turning to Husk. "Can we try to convince you to preen your feathers? Or—" She scrunched up her nose in dismay. "—to clean up your fur?"

"We're in Hell, nobody cares."

For a moment, a look that Husk could not recognize passed on her face. It was something dark and almost manic; it looked a lot like those times when Alastor decided to have a little spot of entertainment for himself a few decades back. Chills raced down Husk's spine before he swallowed a few drops of liquid courage and reminded himself that this was the Princess of Hell, the outcast daughter of Lucifer himself.

She was too innocent and practically powerless.

But—

"Well," Charlie turned away from the bartender. "That settles things. Time to bring in the big guns!"

Vaggie turned to look at her partner before a shocked expression crossed her face. Husk eyed the both of them in question, not really understanding, but Husk could see that a light finally switched on in her eyes. Before Husk could question it, she vanished her spear and shook her head thoughtfully. As much as Husk wanted to ask what was going on in the princess' head, he had a feeling that he would rather not know.

After all, he was just a nobody with a shit job and a shit sense of self-preservation when it came down to choices in employers.

Whatever the case, Husk still had time to let his furry-feathery problem simmer on the backburner.


	3. Sudden Need to GTFO

Christ on a cracker, he was actually right.

He definitely did not need to know what Charlie had been thinking.

After the pair of demonesses had walked away, Husk drowned himself in alcohol and amused himself with a few games of solitaire. When most of the day has passed uneventfully (he still chewed out Angel for ratting him out), he was getting ready to lock up the bar when he heard the sound of a clatter from behind him. Nerves immediately on high alert, he whirled around only to spot little Niffty with a cart full of cleaning supplies. On the floor, at her feet, a broom lay innocently—possibly the culprit of the sound.

"Hey." The demon hybrid trudged over to the smaller demoness before giving her a cursory once over. "You're not hurt, are you? It's not like you to drop things on duty."

The young woman giggled in childlike delight as Husk handed the broom back into her waiting hand. "Aww! You're such a sweetie when no one else is around!"

A small hiss escaped his muzzle, but the small twinkle in his eye negated any ill will the sound may have conjured.

"Nah, I'm, as Alastor would like to call it—" He punctuated his statement with air quotes. "—putting on a show." He leaned forward so that his much taller figure loomed menacingly at Niffty. "These claws, though, ain't." For a moment, Husk allowed his claws to flint in the dim lighting.

Whatever reaction Husk wanted to elicit had fallen to the wayside as Niffty had the audacity to take one long look at his paws before pointing out that he had 'beans on his paws'.

Husk rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the young woman. "Stop. Just stop. I'm pretty sure there are scientific terms for these boys—" He pointed out the pads of his paws. "—not that it's any of your business, anyway."

Niffty hummed before her single eye lit up with an idea. She scuttled over to Husk's figure and grasped one of his paws and began dragging him towards her cart filled with cleaning supplies.

"Come with me and get some exercise!"

"Yeah," he shrugged her hands away. "No. I'm a bit tuckered out, so nah."

She rolled her eye and placed both of her too thin arms on her hips. "But you've been doing nothing but drinking! A lady like me gets tired, ya know."

"You? Tired?" He feigned a look of despair. "Looks like the apocalypse is upon us."

Niffty giggled at his antics before gently nudging him forward again. This time, Husk humored her.

"Where to, Niffty?"

"Your room!"

Honestly, Niffty could have said that they were off to the King of Hell's house to clean the bowels of his toilet and he wouldn't have been as surprised. If it weren't for Niffty prancing down the hall at breakneck speed, Husk would have stopped dead in his tracks. What was she getting at? She usually never asked about cleaning his room; she just did it.

"What about my room?"

Instead of answering, the young woman ran on ahead.

Husk shook his head. Clearly, he would have to find out later.

After some time of walking through the empty hallways and passing several inconspicuous doors, the pair finally made it to Husk's room. At that point, Husk would have thought that Niffty would have run out of energy, but she hurried over to the door and eagerly keyed the lock.

"Are you coming inside?"

"Yup! Don't forget the cart!" With that, she skipped into Husks's den.

Husk allowed himself to groan at her childish antics. She had far too much energy for her own good and he was way too old to deal with her—nevermind the fact that she technically existed before he was a twinkle in parents' eyes. He liked the girl, he did, but there was only so much that he could take—and that was before adding Alastor into the mix!

When he finally pushed the cart inside, the demon hybrid noticed that it was completely dark. Well, it would have been completely dark except for a pair of glowing red eyes.

Oh, that can't be good.

Just when Husk was about to edge closer to the wall (both as a beginning of an escape route and the means to get some light), a staticky sound immediately filled the room.

Jesus Christ! Husk's ears reflexively came close to his head as he tried to stop the jarring noise from completely ruining his hearing.

"Well, hello there, dear Husker! I'm so glad that you decided to join us!" Alastor clapped his hands once and in the resulting bright fluorescence, Husk saw that in the middle of his room, there was a gigantic, porcelain tub filled to the brim with steaming water.

Hell no.

Husk immediately backtracked to the door, but to his horror, he found that a handful of tendrils of darkness had bound his legs and arms from moving.

"Well now, can't have you running away can we?" Alastor hummed as he pranced over to Husk. His eerie red eyes sized up the demon hybrid, a knowing smile growing wider on his face. He leaned slightly over Husk—a cheap tactic to establish dominance, but one that definitely worked in the Radio Demon's favor. The creepy bastard was always smiling! "You've been getting really negligent."

Husk growled. "Oh, yeah? What the fuck is all of this for?" If he still had the use of his hands, he would have gestured towards the bathtub, but just resorted to glaring at Alastor. "Don't tell me that the Princess set you up for this!"

Alastor's grin, already wide and sneering, grew so huge, it stretched out the corners of his lips to almost reaching his ears.

"Damn it…"

"Come on, dear Husker!" Alastor snapped his fingers and within a second, an assortment of cleaning supplies lay in his hand. Upon closer inspection, Husk saw that the cleaning supplies were actually items that had been innocently standing inside Niffty's cart. That little—! "We can't have a wonderful feline such as yourself living with matted fur and loose feathers."

Alastor clicked his tongue against his teeth as he regarded his associate. Husk didn't like the look on his face at all. It was reminiscent of a predator seconds away from catching their prey. Which was strange. Alastor was a deer and the last time Husk checked, deer were prey animals. Weird animals that liked to throw themselves headlong into headlights, but prey animals nonetheless.

Husk sucked in a breath and interjected before Alastor could spout some more nonsense about whatever crap happened to be in his brain. "Look, if you want me to clean up, just tell me. There's no need for all of—" Husk gestured towards the entire setup, his face pinching into a look of utter mortification when he saw that there was a bubble bath of solution that was supposed to smell like strawberries or some girly shit. "—this. Seriously, just leave all of this… considerate stuff here and I'll do it myself." Husk brought his wings up in an attempt to make himself look bigger, to make it look like he had some sort of power in this situation.

Perhaps Husk's small attempt at independence worked. Alastor's eyes had narrowed and his grin seemed to lose its maniacal gleam as he processed Husk's request. That moment, however sweet and hopeful it was, quickly passed.

"Ha!" Alastor's tendrils of darkness bodily wrapped themselves around Husk's form and hauled him into the bathtub. "No, thank you, Husker! I'd rather supervise and make sure that you don't endanger the hotel's reputation any further. Darling Charlie was so worried this morning!" He chuckled lowly to himself as he began to divest himself of his signature coat and draped it onto a nearby chair. "She thought that she was overworking yourself so much, you were neglecting personal hygiene. It's too bad that you're always somewhat like this…"

Husk was too busy trying not to struggle too much in the water lest he run the risk of drowning in the unnecessarily hot temperature of the water. As he flailed about, Husk heard Alastor order Niffty to grab a few more items to aid them in their endeavor to pretty up Husk.

Ugh, this was a nightmare.

Once that conversation ended ("Will do, Alastor!" "Thank you, dear!"), Husk found that the tendrils had slowly left his figure and that Husk was free to arrange himself in the tub in any manner that he pleased. With a sigh, the demon hybrid allowed himself to sit up straight within the tub, carefully brushing the sopping fur that hung in front of his face onto the sides of his head. Already, as Husk could see from trying not to get too disgusted with his reflection, there were hints of dirt and debris lazily floating around the surface of the clear water. A few feathers, stark red against the clear pristine waters began to fall to the bottom of the tub once it began to bear more water than it could manage.

Husk was brought out of his thoughts when he felt a gloved hand run their digits through the fur on his scalp. Call it animal instinct or Husk's perpetual impatience with the demon, but his wings reared up and his mouth reflexively curled back into a hiss. Unfortunately, due to his bedraggled appearance, he only looked like a wet kitty with—

Fuck. That bastard!

"You left my hat on!" Husk turned towards Alastor and looked up at him with a glare that could rival all the fires of Hell. "Kidnap me from a casino, sure! Make me do your dirty work at this shit job, okay! But you don't just dump me into a tub with my favorite hat on!" Husk's paws tentatively took his hat off and tried to wring it out, but that only caused the hat to crumple and look even more forlorn than it already was.

So, Husk settled for the next best thing to happen to that hat at the moment.

With a wickedness usually reserved for the most powerful of overlords, Husk opened up his hat, dunked it down as far as possible, and brought it back out in a speed that was best described as Mach 1 plus a little bit more in Alastor's direction.

And by direction, directly at Alastor's face.

For a moment, Alastor's eyes were wide; his smile was even wider. For a moment, all Husk could do was internally crow in delight at the sight of Alastor looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights.

A very wet deer in the headlights.

This.

This was probably one of the reasons why he worked for Alastor.

And then, just as quickly as Husk reveled in his supposed victory, he began to feel a slight chill of apprehension up and down his spine. It was at that moment, Husk looked behind him and—

Well, shit.

One of Alastor's shadow minions held a bucket that seemed too large and too unwieldy for such a shadow to manage, but that wasn't what bothered Husk. No, what really got to Husk was that there was a gigantic bucket of liquid (water or something else, he didn't know, didn't want to know) and it was poised right on top of him.

Terrified for his life, Husk tried to climb out of the tub, but whether it was because he was too slippery or Alastor managed to summon more of his friends, Husk found that he couldn't.

It took a millisecond, but within that one second, Husk was not only assaulted by the temperature of pure ice, he was also assaulted by the scent of strawberries, blueberries, and vanilla. What was he? A fucking yogurt?

As he closed his eyes to keep them safe from the sting of shampoo and soap, Husk could feel Alastor's claws rake against his fur in order to bring the soap into his coat. Great, now Alastor had taken off his gloves, like he needed his employer to have another excuse to get closer to him.

Between shivers, gasps of breath, and trying to squirm away from Alastor's soothing touches, Husk spoke. "You and I are going to have words later."

Alastor chuckled. "We can have words right now, dear friend! Tell me, are you enjoying your long awaited bath and preening?"

"Enjoying? You call this enjoy—" Alastor pushed Husk's face into the water, cutting him off. "What the hell! You can't just—" Alastor dumped a bucket of even more ice cold whatever straight into Husk's face. "—right! Alright! I'm doing just peachy! You can sto—" Husk was hit with a deluge of water hitting his open mouth.

At that point, Husk was struggling to maintain his anger. The most that he could do was feel irritated and tired. Instead of fighting back, Husk merely resigned himself to leaning against the surface of the bathtub, his head lolling against the porcelain. There was a hum of pleased static before Husk felt the telltale feel of Alastor's hands—human and not clawed—gently scratch between his ears and at the nape of his neck.

"I am not enjoying this."

Alastor hummed. "Well, I certainly am!" More petting before Husk could feel the telltale feel of a damp washcloth on his face.

"Are you seriously—?"

"Oh hush, if I'm going to bathe you, then I'm going to do it right!"

And so it went. Husk found himself being pampered and treated right—well, as right as one could be when faced with the Radio Demon. Aside from the areas that Husk didn't want Alastor to touch, he allowed his employer to rub the shampoo all over his back and to pluck the stray feathers away from the rest of his wings. Pretty soon, the bathtub was left in a disarray of whatever had been taking up house in his wings and fur. As Husk clambered out of the tub, Alastor draped a towel over his shoulders.

Husk raised a brow. "You're not going to dry me up?"

Alastor shrugged. "I think you have more important problems to worry about."

"Like…" And that's when Husk's day went from somewhat tolerable to horrifically worse.

Seated on the edge of his bed, toying with a few brushes and an assortment of bows and sparkly colored objects, Niffty sat. A bright grin, brighter and wider than Alastor's had been throughout their entire ordeal, dominated the entirety of her small face.

"Oh, Husk!" Her singsong voice belied the way she zipped up to him in a predatory manner and got up in his face without a care for the way he reflexively froze and tried to brandish his claws in an effort to keep her at bay. Yet, just like it was between him and Al, Niffty was more than used to him.

God above, they must have hung around each other too long for them to take each other seriously anymore.

"Ready for your makeover?"

"This—!" Husk tried to hide behind Alastor, but that stupid overlord with his bullshit powers disappeared into a puff of shadow before reappearing at the only viable exit in the hotel room. "This wasn't part of the deal!"

Alastor kept his hands clasped behind his back, his expression the typical one that he used to make sure that his clients understood that his deals were always loophole proof.

"Considering that there was no deal, you have no right to say anything."

"You bast—"

Before Husk could fly into another tirade, Niffty hauled him over to the bed where she gleefully sat behind him and began brushing his fur and wings with a tenacity that would have slightly concerned Husk if it weren't for the fact that he was still angry at Alastor.

God, he hated being part of things that he didn't know the extent of his own participation in.

"Mark my words, Alastor," Husk shouted as he tried to shoo away Niffty from his sensitive ears, "we are definitely going to have words later!"

With a parting wave, Alastor promised that, yes, he was definitely going to honor that.

Husk had a feeling that he wouldn't.

And then, Niffty went to work.

It wasn't all that bad. In fact, Husk could have sworn that he was busy arguing with her or something, but then, out of nowhere, he had fallen asleep. The soothing strokes of a brush alongside the idle prattle of Niffty actually lulled him to sleep.

In retrospect, Husk should have kept his guard up.

When he had awoken, Husk noticed three things.

One, he was seated at the bar.

Two, Angel Dust and a handful of patrons were staring at him in fascination.

Three, when he caught his reflection in the liquor cabinet's glass, he saw that his fur was unbelievable fluffy, his ears and fur were clipped back on his head to look like pigtails, and was that—

Was that a bow hanging from his tail and a collar with a bell around his throat?

Oh, when he was going to get Alastor and Niffty alone he was going—

"So," Angel Dust leaned against the counter, getting uncomfortably close to Husk for the umpteenth time that week. "You want to go dragging with me next week? With some eyeliner and shadow, you can definitely pull off a femme fatale sort of look if you're interested."

Angel winked at him.

An anger took hold of Husk's being so hard, his fur stood on end, his fangs were prominent as he bared his teeth, and his wings rose up in a hasty rush that Husk didn't account for the fact that he was standing next to a series of bottles.

Which meant—

_Crash!_

All of the bottles that were lined up in a pretty row happened to come crashing down onto the floor. The cacophony of sound assaulted his ears while he stared in horror at the sight.

His cheap booze!

"Shucks," Angel commented. He brushed his hands off as if cleaning his hands clean of the matter—that stupid spider!—and began to leave. "You look pretty by the way!"

Alastor banged his newly fluffed up face onto the counter and screamed to high heaven.

Once Husk finally stopped, he noticed that there was a small post it note next to a new bottle of liquor that stood innocently on the bar's countertop. It was new and bright red, Alastor's signature aura was practically radiating from it.

It read:

_With all due respect, none of which you actually have or deserve, I hope that you understand that what Niffty and I had to do was completely necessary. Perhaps next time you should be far more up to date with your hygienic practice._

—_Alastor_

Husk crumpled that stupid note in his paw.

"We are still having words about this!"

The note flared red in his paw and Husk hurriedly unfurled it.

_These are your words. Enjoy._

Fuck it. Fuck all of this.

Husk needed a drink.

God, he hated being an animal demon.


End file.
